(i will someday edit and fix the poem from my last entry, it was written while high, however i think it still has some merit)
now on to today's entry, a poem i hope to have good enough to read at the poetry reading next weekend . . .



having come back
from a sucidal teen
cliche of a life
and lived to tell about it
  (mind you it is no
  great feet to do so)
i can say
with total and complete
confidence
that when you go through
your required
narcissistic depression
you do not intend
for it to be about attention

there is no such thing
as a cry for help
only cries to
  yourself
silent pleads not to die
to quickly
but to waste away
complacently
  slowly
just in case
an opprotunity presents itself
for you to be happy
and long for life
isntead of death

no one
wants to kill themselves
  (we just want to die
  instead)